


Family Reunion

by vcumonkey



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Adventure, Family Reunion, Gen, family trips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:36:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1861569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vcumonkey/pseuds/vcumonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whilst the 12th Doctor travels with Clara, they bump into a blast from the past that probably shouldn't exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When Poosh Comes to Shove

**Author's Note:**

> Fandom: Doctor Who  
> Word Count: 1,307  
> Pairings: None  
> Characters: 12th Doctor, Clara, Jenny  
> Rating: PG  
> Author's Note: I don't own Doctor Who, BBC, Moffat, or any of it. If I did, Rose would have had the time vortex stuck in her and would have lived the Doctor's forever with him.  
> 

 

 

 

 

 

“Welcome to Poosh, Clara! Used to have a lost moon. Not lost, anymore. A friend of mine helped restore it.” His eyes are wistful as he says this, and she in turn frowns. After regenerating, her quirky, brunette Doctor with a penchant for bow ties and fezzes had become a serious, ashen-haired man who liked reminiscing. _A lot_. He is forever speaking about past companions and old faces, and she is even, on occasion, lucky enough to collect names of long ago—Amy, Rose, Rory, Donna—he mentions River more often than not (she thinks because it is a commonality between them), and quite a few of his funniest memories involve a woman named Sarah Jane. All of these people he spoke of with such reverence and adoration; it is clear that he loved each and every one very dearly, and misses them just as much. She wonders, now, if she will one day become one of his memories that he casually mentions to new companions. She likes to hope so.

 

He is speaking to her about another adventure when he still wore leather and a scowl that involves Rose and a flirt named Jack, when suddenly, he stops. Jolted by the immediate halt in his otherwise deep and gentle voice, she glances at him, and is surprised to see his face pale, as if all the blood in his superior circulatory system forgot where it is meant to go. His eyes are wide, mouth turned down in an open frown. It is unnerving. “Doctor?” she says, placing a hand on his dark blue coat. “What’s wrong?”

 

He does not reply, simply continues to stare off into the distance with a look of utter shock. She has rarely seen such looks on his face, and each time they frighten her. She follows his gaze and her eyes land on a young woman with a bright face and kind eyes. Her blonde ponytail swings prettily as she turns to smile at something her companion is saying. The companion offers her a trinket from the booth which they are currently perusing, and she nods in approval. Coins are exchanged for the bauble, and the man places it inside his coat. They walk to the next stall and she slips her hand in his, looking around with avid curiosity, as if she was seeing the world through new eyes. Noticing the strange couple gawking at her from several feet away, she nudges her companion and, when he looks at her, nods at her spectators. This seems to shake the Doctor from his reverie. “Come, Clara. Let’s move on. Quickly, now, before—well, before.”

 

Fingers tighten on his sleeve as the Doctor begins walking briskly in the opposite direction from the couple staring in confusion. Feeling nervous, Clara says, “Doctor, who are they? Is it dangerous?”

 

“Not now, Clara,” he replies shortly.

 

“But—”

 

 _“No,_ Clara.” His pace quickens and she is forced to jog to keep up with his long strides. Clara glances behind her in time to see the man tug on the woman’s hand; she allows him to pull her in the direction of the next stall, pausing only once to look back at the Doctor in confusion, but also with a twinge of recollection, almost as if she _knows_ him from somewhere, but she cannot place his face. The Doctor, in his haste, does not see; he is entirely focused on fleeing the woman’s presence. Minutes later, Clara is struggling to catch her breath in an alley full of alien trash while the Doctor furrows his brow. He pulls out a pocket watch, which recently replaced his previous wristwatch. She has seen him use it when things go awry in their travels, which frankly is quite often, just to confirm their position in time and space. Twiddling the dials furiously, he lets out an exasperated huff.

“This can’t be correct. Right place, wrong _time_. It’s always a millennia off. _Every_ blasted time. Meddling ship. Can’t let sleeping Barcelonian dogs lie, can you, eh old girl? Still….” A pensive look grows on his face as he taps the now closed watch against his cheek. He seems to engage in a war with himself, if the turmoil on his face is any indication, all the while muttering angrily. “No—but…perhaps? _No_. It would—damn it—not fair. Not _right_. Hm…I wonder, though. Resilient, she was...but, the possibility?” He glances at Clara pensively. “But there was _Clara,_ so it _is_ possible…I wonder.” His voice fades, and she is left gaping at him with bewilderment.

 

“Doctor? Any chance you could explain…erm, _any_ of it?”

 

Confused, he looks at her as if he had forgotten she was there at all, but then smiles with excitement. It is a look she has not seen before, not with this face. She remembers not too long ago saying, while the TARDIS was afire all around her, that she didn’t know who the Doctor was anymore. But this look reminds her starkly of her bow tie Doctor with no eyebrows. She misses him. The new Doctor pulls her from her memories of fezzes and a youthful face by saying, “Clara, the TARDIS has taken us somewhere I never thought existed.”

 

“Oh? But I thought you’d been here before, with…ehm…” She scratches her head as she struggles to recall. The blonde one? The one he speaks of with such love and pain, that she is _certain_ something _more_ happened between them. “Rosa, wasn’t it? No! _Rose_ , that’s it. Didn’t you run into a flesh-eating centipede here, or something?”

 

He grins. “Yes, I did come here with Rose, and it was a flesh-eating _slug_ , not unlike the ones seen in _Harry Potter_. Apparently, some mad scientist came up with the idea from reading the second book. Interesting.” He pauses. Sometimes, his earlier reincarnations pop up with their personalities and quirks. He never loses his taste for literature, though, something for which he is immensely happy. “But I don’t mean the _place_ , Clara.” He glances at the watch again, this time with even more perplexity. “I meant the _circumstances_. We’re at a point, around a time I once visited with Donna and Martha, but we never came _here._ And the woman back at the market,” he glances back with mounting anticipation, “well, Clara, that woman really shouldn’t be here.”

 

“But who is she? And why shouldn’t she be here? Is she dangerous?”

 

“Well, no, I don’t believe she is. But she shouldn’t be here because she _died_ , not less than two years ago, according to this time.” He taps his watch and she glances down, trying to make sense of all of the circles. She knows the patterns are a language of their own, but she has never been able to understand any of them.

 

“So,” she replies, wanting to comprehend, “is she like me? Or does she just look like someone you knew?”

 

“No, she definitely is the same person. I can _feel_ it.”

 

Clara notices that he is avoiding the question of the identity of the woman in the market, and wonders if she is a past lover. She grins; she never met Rose (she doesn’t think he will _ever_ take her to visit, and she is afraid to ask) and she only met River Song in a dream-state during a tumultuous time. It would be interesting to see the other side of the Doctor, the one who loves, who _dances_. But, she doesn’t think he would ever admit it; he would probably say his kind did not do that sort of thing. To push her luck, she asks once more. “Doctor. Who is she?”

 

The Doctor finally meets Clara’s eyes and heaves a great sigh, one that seems full of regret and sorrow, emotions she is used to seeing with this ancient alien. “She’s my daughter.”


	2. When Poosh Comes to Shove Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Doctor Who. If I did, then Jack would still run around with the gang :)  
> Hope you enjoy!

“What do you mean, _daughter_?” Clara splutters, now perplexed beyond comprehension.

 

The Doctor grimaces, rubbing his chin absently. “I’ve—ehm, I’ve been a father, before, you know. Old man, me. Lived hundreds of years, many different lives. Is it so far-fetched I would have children, Clara?” He casts a stern look towards her, and she flinches.

 

“Well, of course not, Doctor…but I thought…em…” She is wary of bringing up past children, past regrets and failures, even after the events with the Moment, but she feels this is important enough to cross that fine line between curious and digging. “I thought that all of your family…well, _died_ ,” she finishes in a small voice.

 

A touch of hesitation and pain flitters over his face, but he shrugs it away quickly, having had many years with which to deal with the pain of losing his children and grandchild. “Yes. They did. She’s an—an echo. Well, no, that’s not fair. More like an anomaly, I suppose you could call her. Yes. That’s the word. It’s called ‘progenation’.” At her confused look he elaborates. “It’s—ah, it’s artificial reproduction, using diploid cells from one single organism. The sample of diploid cells are then reproduced into haploid cells, which in turn are reorganized to create a new arrangement, which is quite unlike the original diploid cells, but has the same genetics….” His voices trails away at her blank expression, and while he _loves_ having Clara around, because she is caring and bright, he misses Donna and Martha in this moment; they would understand the explanation, namely because they had _been_ there when Jenny was born—created. Plus, given her degree in medicine, Martha would have no trouble understanding the science of the process; Donna probably would have slapped him before he could mention the word “diploid”. He grins at the thought, but then runs a hand over his tired face as a memory surfaces of anguished pleas and regrets.

 

Clara watches the motion and is unpleasantly struck again at how _old_ this Doctor seems, compared to her previous one. The lines near his eyes and the grey marking the strands of his hair remind her of the last Christmas cracker she ever pulled with her bow tie Doctor, and she feels another twinge of grief for what has been lost. A hint of exasperation mingles with her confusion, and she wishes, not for the first time, that she understood an iota of what he was talking about.

 

The Doctor’s eyes scan the alley and the market beyond with trepidation, as if he is _afraid_ of the petite girl with blonde hair. Well, _girl_ is a bit unfair—really, she seems near in age to Clara herself, but, then, if she is the _Doctor’s_ daughter, she could be anywhere from twenty-five to nine hundred. Still, no matter her age; what is more important is the Doctor’s antics. Surely he is acting silly to show fear of his own flesh and blood. Clara puts her hands on her hips and asks sternly, “Don’t you want to talk to her, then?”

 

The Doctor glances at Clara with alarm. “Of course not. Why would you ask such a stupid question?” Inwardly wincing, he thinks over the curt nature of this form. He remembers asking Clara, moments after crash landing the TARDIS, if he was a good man. She seemed then that she did not know the answer. His tenth form—or would it have been his eleventh and twelfth? He certainly was vain back then—was rude and not ginger, and it seems that those qualities have bled over into this new body. Still, if he is honest with himself, it _had_ been a stupid question. There is no scenario that he can foresee in which confronting Jenny would end well. Not only is he two faces different from when they first met (or when his DNA created her), she is meant to be _dead_. She died in his arms, on that forsaken planet in front of the Source. Just because she had Gallifreyan DNA does _not_ mean she had regeneration capabilities. Which would either mean that she was some evil version of Jenny (Raxacoricofallapatorian, perhaps?) or she simply _looked_ like his daughter, in which case running towards her with open arms and a genial smile would only frighten her. There is no possible way that girl in the market could be _his_ Jenny, complete with Gallifreyan regenerations.

 

***

“Jen, what do you think of _this_?” Pulled away from staring after the strange yet familiar man that had just darted out of sight, Jenny turns to Ben, who is holding an innocuous crimson rock in the palm of his hand. She smiles, once again pleased that she had found someone to share in her dream, the one she had inherited from her father. It hadn’t been too long after leaving Messaline, only a few months or so perhaps, when she had run into Ben, quite literally, on a bazaar on the planet Denali (named for its snow-capped mountain ranges quite similar to those found in the Alaskan region on Earth; Jenny has yet to visit the human’s original planet, but she is looking forward to it). Ben had been a scavenger and a small-time thief, and had made the mistake of trying to pick-pocket Jenny. She, being agile and strong—two hearts and a Time Lord father, coupled with being born knowing how to fight—had immediately brought the poor kid to his knees. He had stared at her with defiance and blatant admiration, and had said, “If you’re going to kill me, do it already. I ain’t got all day, you know.”

She had laughed, helping him to his feet, and had asked his name. She had then been able to wheedle his story from him, and had found out that he worked for the wrong people who made him feel like he had no other choice than to steal for scraps (both metal and edible). She had told him that there is always a choice, something her father had made her believe. She then had grabbed his hand, telling him with a quirky grin to run, and they had never stopped, fulfilling her last words on Messaline.

She loves Ben; he is intelligent, kind, and charming, and he finds such joy in what they do, given that he had been stuck on Denali his entire life. It is amazing how much more exciting travelling the stars can be with someone to share it with. Plus, he is able to read people better than she, and that ability has saved them from some sticky situations. She walks over to him, glances at the stone in his palm, and asks, “What is it, then?”

“It’s called ‘hematite’. Apparently found on Earth, Azchalia, and a few other planets with similar characteristics.” Jenny smiles; Ben apparently read the place-card for the dark red rock. “It has long been said that hematite has blood-purifying properties, but what is most interesting about the mineral is its association with psychic awareness.”

Her interest piqued, she moves her hand towards the stone. “You don’t say? I wonder if it increases the ability if you already have it.”

He glances at her as he places the hematite in her palm. “Probably. It’s worth a shot.”

She certainly hopes so. Having quickly discovered her telepathy after waking on Messaline, she had been training herself, strengthening her ability. Assuming her father has the same telepathic gifts as hers, she should be able to reach out to his mind to reassure him of her reboot (having no other word for what happened to her, reboot is as good as any). Ever since leaving the newly terraformed planet, Jenny had been searching for her father, using her ship and her mind, but to no avail. She had briefly spoken to Cline and the others about what had happened after Cobb had shot her through one of her hearts and had discovered that her father believed her to be dead, which is why he, Martha, and Donna did not stay. She had been promised a place on his ship, a place in his _life_ , and she is determined to find him to collect. Worried that her mind is simply not yet strong enough to reach out to her father’s, she eagerly closes her fingers around the blood-red stone, hoping that it works.

With the rock in one hand and Ben’s clasping the other, she reaches out her mind, desperately searching for her father. There is so much _noise_ , so much that it is almost impossible to navigate the voices and sounds, but—there—a light flickering in the distance—she moves towards it, and it grows in size, stronger, too. Bright orange tendrils tentatively reach towards her sunny yellow strands, and, in her enthusiasm, her strands wrap themselves around the tendrils of light. The orange pulls back briefly, but then carefully inches forward, as if to say, “slow down”. She hears those words in her mind and gasps with excitement, and the connection is broken.

Her eyes open and find Ben’s; he chuckles and says, “So, I guess it works, then? A bargain at only ten denals! We should buy it, see if it will help you find your dad.”

“No need, Ben. I think he’s here.” Her body turns towards the alley where she last saw the strange man. He didn’t look a _thing_ like her father, but for some reason, she _knows_ that it’s him.

“ _Here_? Where? We-I-well! Which one is he?” He scans the faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone resembling Jenny.

She points down the square, and, after he places the hematite back on the table with an apologetic smile, they hurry towards the alley. Jenny is sprinting, nearly jumping with anticipation. What is she going to say? Will he mind Ben coming along? Is Donna still with him? She pauses at Ben’s shout to wait up; grinning broadly, she grabs his hand and says, “Come on, then, slowpoke! He’s here!”

As they reach the alley, a young brunette in a red dress steps out, an older man in tow. His hair is grey, skin marred with wrinkles, face tired; he hardly resembles the man she knew as her father. _He_ was all brown and freckles, too skinny and gangly. But he had such manic energy, such excitement for life; this man seems to have none, except in his eyes. The eyes—blue, not brown—are where the resemblance really shows; they are so full of emotion, like they’ve lived for so _long_ , seen wonders and downfalls, hope and pain. Now they reflect relief and joy, the emotions swirling within her. On instinct, her mind reaches out and immediately grasp the orange tendrils. He reassures her, and she blinks in recognition. Somehow, this man is the same man she met two years ago. Rushing forward, past the startled brunette, she leaps into the man’s arms, grinning all the while. His embrace tightens around her and she feels him sigh happily.

Pulling back and staring into his familiar eyes, she says, “Hello, Father.”


	3. When Poosh Comes to Shove Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read and is still reading this! Hope you enjoy!  
> A/N: I don't own Doctor Who or the BBC. If I did, I'd live in the TARDIS.

He raises an unsteady hand, softly touching her cheek. Blue eyes drink her in—after so many losses, so much death, to have one come back to him, his own flesh and blood for that matter, is more than he could ever hope for. The place in his mind that has been nearly devoid of sound since his people vanished now has a bright hum accompanying the metallic whisper of the TARDIS. The absence of silence threatens to overwhelm him, and the arm still around his daughter clutches tighter with desperation. If she feels him trembling, she makes no mention. Instead, she adds her tears of joy to his, and after a moment they are still. She pulls back once more and he swipes a finger over the apple of her cheek. “Oh, my darling girl. It has been far too long.”

She quirks an eyebrow playfully and exclaims, “I’ll say! You look so _different_ , Father. How have you changed so much? It’s only been two years!” Jenny’s eyes roam his lined face once more, again looking for signs that connect this man to the one she once knew. She _knows_ that this man is her father; the mental link they share makes it easy to believe. But apart from the manic energy present in his eyes, she can see nothing she remembers. She frowns, dropping her arms suddenly. “But…it’s only been two years,” she repeats quietly.

He sighs, reaching a hand towards his face to scratch his chin. “Jenny, our species, the people of Gallifrey, were superior to most others. Nearly all others, in fact. In so many ways. You know about the telepathic ability,” his eyes dart to her forehead with a proud smile, “but that is just one of the many things that make Gallifreyans, that make _us_ , so much better than all of the inferior species in the universes. You see, we have—”

“Excuse me.” Jenny and the Doctor turn to stare at Clara, who had, until that moment, been watching the exchange with mounting frustration. Dark, brooding, and ancient, this Doctor has none of the big, sad eyes that she is used to, and acts more like an isolated god among men as opposed to the benevolent alien eager to save as many lives as possible with an adorable, dorky grin plastered to his face. She’s not sure she likes this new Doctor, who is even more mercurial than before. He had been keen to leave the girl who looked like his daughter far behind, almost distressed in his haste to escape, even going as far as to insinuate a lack of wit and intelligence on her part, and now is embracing the girl, acting as if he never wanted to leave in the first place. And then, to say how _superior_ his species is to all others? Because of some death cheating parlor trick that looks like a sneeze?

The Doctor glances around the quiet alley, eyes catching the bins with interest—he always finds useful things in the rubbish—then looks squarely at Clara. “Yes? Anything you’d like to contribute?”

Definitely rude, this one. “As a matter of fact, _yes_ , Doctor, there is something. It’s bad enough you go on and on about how inferior other species are—”

He sighs in irritation. “Well, they _are_ , Clara. In fact, I previously called you humans ‘apes’, if you must know, so really, I’m being _nice_.”

Bloody hell, but this man is infuriating. “Sure,” she replies, her eyes rolling skyward. “The thing is, Doctor, and I’m sure your other companions would have agreed, is that people don’t like being told they are part of a second-rate species—”

“Now, I most certainly did _not_ say second-rate; I think most species have a lot of potential and—”

“All I’m saying,” Clara says, her voice rising, “is that it sounds a bit patronizing, actually, the way _you_ do it, as if you’re doing us lesser people a _favor_ by _not_ calling us apes!”

Clara’s hands are on her hips, which the Doctor recognizes from the companions she had mentioned. If Rose was here, the gesture would be complemented with a stern glare and probably a lecture about how even though his brilliance was insurmountable, that did not give him the right to act like a pompous arse, and would he like to talk to Jackie about it? Donna would have used the gesture to preempt a slap. The Doctor is still not sure yet how Clara would use it—she’s quite a mystery, this one. As such, he puts his hand forward in a placating way. Ben, who has, in the past with Jenny, made this grave error, grimaces and leans towards her. Mistaking the argument unfolding for a lover’s spat, he whispers, “Let’s give them a moment, yeah?”

Jenny glances away from her father and the red-faced Clara. She starts to nod at Ben, and is taking a step towards him when the Doctor turns and says, “Oh, there is no need for that.”

Ben looks at the Doctor. “I just figured you’d want time to talk to your…er,” he trails off awkwardly, not knowing what to call the young brunette to the older man. He’s seen many couples, some traditional in the ancient sense, others drastically different even for the year 6014. He’s not an ageist, by any means; if the old guy needed someone young to take care of him, who should argue?

The Doctor laughs, clearly understanding what Ben is trying badly not to imply. “Truly, no need for that nonsense. Clara is my companion. Strictly platonic. I don’t meddle with relationships. It tends to get messy.” He steadfastly ignores his brief marriage to Queen Elizabeth the First and the dalliance that was River Song.

Clara crosses her arms. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to stoop so low, would you, Doctor?”

The Doctor opens his mouth to reply, but Jenny steps in. “Alright, enough! I didn’t find you just to watch you bicker with some woman I don’t know!” A look of confusion crosses her features. “Which reminds me. Father, where is Donna?”

His eyebrows draw downward, mouth set in a firm line. A flash of pain enters his eyes as he says, “She’s gone, Jenny. She’s been gone a long, long time.”

Ben grasps Jenny’s hand firmly. She had told him as much as she could about the woman she considers a surrogate mother; Donna had named her, had convinced her father that she was worthy of his love, that she was like him. Ben can’t help feeling bereft that he will never meet the amazing redhead, and can only imagine how Jenny feels. She softly speaks, and he squeezes her hand tighter. “Dead?”

The Doctor briskly shakes his head. “Jenny, when I met you, do you remember I said I was a traveler?” At her nod, he continues. “I also told you I am a Time Lord, and as such, I travel through time in order to protect it. You last saw me two years ago, your time. It’s been over a millennia for me. Donna is alive, never aging, in her time-stream. Were I to enter it, she would unfreeze, grow older. I could go to the end of her life, if I wanted, but it is better that my companions remain ageless. They live longer that way.” A twinge of guilt surfaces for Amy, Rory, Adric, River, and countless others.

Jenny takes his hand in her free one. “Oh, Father,” she says sympathetically. He waves away her concern, and is about to continue his explanations, when she says, “Hold on. You said _millennia._ You said it’s been over a thousand years since you last saw me?” She gapes incredulously. “How old _are_ you?”

He scratches his chin in thought, a gesture Clara is quickly coming to recognize as his new “thinking pose”. It is a lot easier to manage than flailing arms and manic pacing, and she is glad that this new version of her Doctor got something right, at least. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Two thousand? Give or take a few hundred years? I tend to lose count every once in a while. Then I go back and count again, when I have a moment. Two thousand seems right.”

Ben exchanges a look with Clara, who shrugs, as if this impossible number is nothing new. He glances at Jenny, who is biting her lip with agitation. She worries that she is like her father, and also not like him. How could she stay with Ben if her life span is that of her father’s? How could she be with him for fifty, sixty, seventy years, if her years were to stretch to hundreds, thousands? But, if she is _not_ like her father, then she would simply be one more death he can add to his roster, someone else for which he can feel pain.

The Doctor, unaware of the turmoil his daughter is feeling, says, “In answer to a previous question, the people of Gallifrey were able to cheat death, so to speak, by rewriting their DNA on a molecular level, creating an entirely new person. Same memories, same person, different looks and different personality. It is called ‘regeneration’. You did it, I assume. Do you remember a glow at all? Coming from your skin or breath after you died, perhaps?”

Jenny nods. “The men on Messaline said this yellow mist came out of my mouth, and then I woke up.”

“Regeneration energy. If I had waited longer, I would have been there for you when you awoke. I’m so sorry.”  His last self had tried to make it a point to not dwell on the past, even going so far as to conveniently forget the children of Gallifrey. This self is not as oblivious. He regrets, now, not staying, too willing to believe that his daughter was too much like him, rather than being just the right amount of him.

Jenny shrugs, releasing the grip of both men in the process. “Don’t worry about it. I found you, didn’t I? And it didn’t take _me_ hundreds of years,” she states with a cheeky grin. “So, Father. Where’s your ship? Ben and I are ready to set sail, so to speak.” She glances around the empty alley curiously, as if expecting to find a vessel powerful enough to travel through time _and_ space. Her eyes catch a primitive, rusted refrigerator, and her brows raise with interest. It certainly looks different; perhaps a teleport device? Why else would her father and his companion have raced to this particular alley? She points to it excitedly and asks, “Is that how you get to it?”

The Doctor follows her gaze with confusion. “To what? What?” He looks at Ben with mounting alarm. It would be fantastic, brilliant even, to have Jenny aboard the TARDIS, like it should have been years and years ago. But surely she didn’t expect to have another human tag along? It is bad enough having just one. They wither and die so _quickly_. He imagines he’ll run through this one swiftly, if she wasn’t so keen on dying and reappearing somewhere else, as someone else. Tricky, this one. He glares at Clara, as if the anomaly of her existence is her fault.

She stares right back with defiance, knowing exactly what is going on in that big, dumb head of his. “Doctor. You did say that we had trouble ahead. That we were going to go into darkness?” She states this almost sarcastically. “Wouldn’t it be easier with more than two?”

“Yes, but—”

“Nope. No buts. She’s your daughter. And he’s with her. And where we’re going, we’ll need all the able hands we can get. So stop being a git.”

He sighs, turning to Jenny. She is smiling widely, a grin that is poorly copied on Ben’s face, who looks more worried than anything. “Yes, alright. Jenny, it’s time to meet the TARDIS.”

***

“It’s bigger on the inside! Wicked!” A thin smile touches the Doctor’s lips as he watches Jenny take everything in, from the flashing orange time rotor to the Gallifreyan writing spinning above it. She gently brushes her hand over the metal railing surrounding the console, looking back at Ben. She laughs at the dumbstruck look on his face; he has never seen a ship like this, one that was disguised as an odd, blue box.

Clara stands to the side with the Doctor, remembering her first time walking into the TARDIS. “Good decision, then, Doctor?”

“Hm?” He glances briefly at Clara, then back to his daughter, who is now dancing around the grating with a look of glee. The TARDIS hums in delight at the new addition, reaching her song out to the Doctor with joy. Being always inside his lonely head can put a strain on the old girl, and she is thankful he has someone new to fill the void. Smile back in place, he says to Clara, “Yes. Brilliant decision, actually. I’m glad I thought of it.”

She chuckles. “Same old modest Doctor. You know, it wouldn’t kill you to say thanks, every once in a while.”

His grin widens. “True. Thank you, Clara. For staying with me. And for this,” his arms sweep the console area, where Jenny is laughingly gesturing to Ben, who is still wearing a stunned look. “I might have left her otherwise.”

“No, Doctor. You’ve changed, but you’ve not changed that much.”

Placing a grateful palm on her shoulder, he nods and strides to Jenny. “So, Jenny. Now that you’re here, there is no reason why we should not traverse on.”

She turns, beaming with excitement, practically bouncing like an overactive child on Christmas morning that has already had too much chocolate. “Ooh, where to, Father? I’ve been to loads of places—not, probably, as much as you, I’m sure!—Tweed, Kulfax, a place called Barcelona that had such funny creatures—looked like dogs but with no noses! The locals kept saying something to us over and over while laughing, I think it was a joke, but we couldn’t speak their language, but I think it had something to do with how dogs smell! And we went to Gulry, and had the most _delicious_ apples, but they’re not called apples on Gulry, they’re called—”

“Gullaries, yes. Did you have any gullary pie? Best fruit pie this side of the galaxy, I’d say!” Her exhilaration is infectious, and he feels younger than he has in years.

“Oh, yes! It was wonderful! We had it with cream from a cow. Apparently they are Earth-based mammals! We didn’t get to see one, but they had them at zoos. Ooh, Father! Can we go to Earth? Can we? I’ve heard _so_ much about it, and I’ve even met a human that had _lived_ there, too!”

He smiles indulgently, starting to move towards the controls at the console. “I think we can manage a trip to Earth. What do you say, old girl? Late Cretaceous period?" The TARDIS clangs in his mind, sending him a mental picture of four humanoids frantically running from a giant carnivore. "All right, fine. You decide then. You always do, anyway."


End file.
